


nothing remains

by archiveofwebs



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Avatar (like entity avatar) AU, Buried!Jonathan, Eye!Albrecht, Found Family, Gen, Lonely!Barnabas, Past and Present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archiveofwebs/pseuds/archiveofwebs
Summary: There is something to say about remains.-Three individuals who suffered at the hands of one begin again, a threat looming in the distance that was once not their problem, but now is.For now though, it's about those that they guide.(The Albrecht, Fanshawe, and Barnabas Avatar Au with some found family au that no one wanted but I wrote anyways.)
Relationships: Albrecht von Closen & Martin Blackwood, Barnabas Bennett & Tim Stoker & Danny Stoker, Jonathan Fanshawe & Sasha James
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	nothing remains

**Author's Note:**

> So this entire concept was inspired by the Matenrou part of Hoodstar. Please don't ask how I got this from that, because I have zero idea. 
> 
> So yea! Fun little avatar au!
> 
> Except this isn't gonna be fun down the line but :D 
> 
> This was not supposed to be 3k. I wanted about 1k...
> 
> Also, Albrecht (and Martin) are using Hochdeutsch in this. The likelihood that von Closen would have used this is incredibly slim, but I couldn't find a Schwäbisch translator (which is the dialekt he more than likely spoke, given he lived and then traveled from (SW) Bavaria then to Schramberg, for long winded linguistic reasons). I spent over half an hour researching this and 127 and I are currently not friends. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

**_Then_ **

-

**Sasha & Fanshawe - Buried Truths**

“Papa?”

“-hit! Sasha. Hello, dear.”

The little girl stood there, holding her plush shark to her chest and looking with wide eyes at the man in front of. 

Which would have been fine, if he wasn’t currently five feet nine inches deep into an open grave. 

The dirt under his feet (bare and scarred, some old, some new) stirred and shifted, rising into small mounds. Those he shuffled under his foot, rolling his eyes when he felt a few rocks drag under the arch of his foot.

(He had long grown used to Choke’s petty games.) 

The tendrils crawling up the sides of the grave were swatted with the old shovel in his hands.

_No. Not for you._

A growl echoed in his head.

_I will drench this grave if you don’t shut up and stop going after my daughter. She will choose her own path._

Nothing.

“Papa?”

“Sorry dear. Nothing to worry about, just some late night gardening.”

_Three more inches. Just three more._

“Papa, that’s a really big hole.”

“Well you see…”

“I thought you were a doctor, not a gravedigger.”

“Well- I…”

“Is this for The Center?”

“What!” The wooden shovel in his hands clattered to the ground as Jonathan Fanshawe stared at his daughter in shock. How had she learned It’s name? 

“The Center? That’s what you write to, right? Or at least write about?” 

Jonathan could only blink as his daughter walked closer to the grave, plopping down opposite of him and throwing her little legs over the ledge. She laughed when she sunk into the ground a little bit, and even giggled when tendrils of dirt wrapped around her legs.

“You...read…”

“Yep! I was really curious about your letters and read some of them! You’re not mad at me, are you?” Jonathan rushed forward, carefully picking up Sasha’s tiny hands.

“No, no, my dear, never. Some of those are...not really age appropriate for a young one like you, that’s all.”

“Oh! Papa, I was really careful! If one scared me I didn’t read it! I will read them when I’m older! But I do have a question…”

_Buried help him, he was not prepared for this._

(Under his feet, the dirt shifted in what Jonathan could only assume was a laugh.)

“Yes...what is your question?”

“Is digging a grave hard? Do they have to be this big...cause um.”

Setting her toy shark on her lap, little Sasha James-Fanshawe rolled the plush over to reveal the pouch on its belly. She peeled the velcro open, reached inside, and pulled out a tiny garden shovel.

“I got my own shovel! So we can dig together!”

_Buried help him._

**Martin & Albrecht - Always Watching**

“Martin, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Climb on the shelves. Es ist nicht sicher.”

“Oh, okay!”

-

“Martin, no sweets before dinner, liebling. Verwöhne dein Abendessen nicht.”

“Ah! Ja Vater! Es tut mir leid!”

-

“Martin…”

“Aha!” Turning around from staring out the large window of his office, Albrecht von Closen stared at the small child in front of him, little hands curled up on his waist, a big smile on his face.

Albrecht blinked once, rolling his eyes. 

Luckily, with help from the veil shrouding his face, Martin couldn’t see.

“‘Aha’, what, Martin?”

“How did you know?” The boy was now climbing onto one of the office’s large wingbacks, socked feet sliding on the soft cushions. 

“Du kannst mich sehen! Even when you aren’t looking!”

“It’s...a parent...thing...yes. A parent thing.”

-

Martin Blackwood, still Blackwood where it was needed most but von Closen to Albrecht, was chosen by the Forsaken at a very young age. Even before he met Albrecht, or Father. 

Though he supposes that only Father calls it Forsaken, when he thinks Martin isn’t nearby. 

With mum...and…

He’s happy now. 

Very happy.

Even when Father somehow catches him doing things when he isn’t looking.

Martin thinks he has eyes in the back of his head.

Martin wishes he had a mirror to check.

-

He isn’t wrong.

-

Looking at the veil that covers Father’s face, Martin toes the floor and twists his hands.

“Martin, I’m not mad. You must trust me on this.”

“But!”

“I’ve known for a very long time. We are similar, but also different.”

“Oh?”

-

“Remember Martin. When you go in there, I cannot See you.”

“Obviously father! I’m going into The One Alone!”

“No Martin. I won’t be able to _See_ you. You will have to go in and get out on your own. I won’t be able to help you.”

“You are my anchor though!”

In his chest, Albrecht felt his heart stutter. 

_And old ache. Of family and friends lost._

“Martin…”

“So I’ll definitely come back to you! And look!” Rolling up his shirt sleeve, Martin proudly holding up his wrist to his father. In blue marker, a messy eye was drawn on his skin. “So we are connected!”

Albrecht wasn’t sure how many of his eyes were crying.

-

In his office, Albrecht stared at the large blank space that had been cleared for Martin’s trial.

It had been three days and he was this close to tearing into the Forsaken to find his son. Entity alliance be damned. 

A sudden clatter brought his eyes up from his desk (where he was wringing his hands over and over) and back to the room. 

Where a tired, smiling Martin stood.

“Father, I would like a hug please.”

Albrecht ran forward and scooped up his son, ignoring the increased number of blue eyes drawn on his skin. 

**Tim & Bennett - Fear Leaves the Bones Weary**

If there was one thing that Barnabas had learned since his “death” was that loneliness and the fear of being alone smelled very differently. 

(He invested in a lot of candles these days. Less for decoration and more to drown out the stench of loneliness. How did Mordechai deal with this?)

He had seen the brothers around. No parents that he was aware of. It was always the two of them. 

Then one day, there was one of them.

He actually had to brace himself against the nearest wall, the stench of anguished loneliness so sharp and new, smothering the sickly sweet stench of fear. 

He may be an avatar of the Forsaken, but sometimes there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. 

Walking up to the boy, pushing up his glasses and fixing his hair, he made his voice as light as possible.

“Excuse me, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

The child (who was actually a young adult but everyone was a child to him) turned to him. 

“My brother...he’s missing. I haven’t-”

There was a howling in his ears, drowning out the rest of the man’s words. He felt his vision fade and his hearing close off as rancid, putrid fear invade his senses. 

_TIm! Tim!_

If there was one thing Barnabas knew, it was forced isolation. The feeling of being forced into a loneliness that you can’t get out of. The other boy probably wasn’t even registering that he was feeling isolated, but being taken from someone you are close to has a lasting effect. 

Grabbing the shaking hand of the other man, Barnabas pulled him through alleys and side streets. 

Once clear of people, he pulled them into Forsaken, following the thin thread of fear that was fading by the second. 

The boy was dying. 

Running faster, they both escaped the Forsaken in front of a building to fancy for the stench it was giving off. 

_Royal Opera House._

-

As the two brothers hugged and cried, Barnabas fixed himself a drink. 

He hated dealing with anyone associated with The Stranger. 

Vile things. 

However, fire he learned was very useful against a lot of entities. 

Danny Stoker would have a few scars from the claws of that thing and a lot of nightmares, but he would be safe. 

All in a day's work.

Downing his drink in one go, he turned back to the two men. 

“I’ve got a few spare rooms. Feel free to grab whichever one fits your tastes. The dresser will have spare pajamas.”

They looked at him with startled looks and he sighed. 

“I’m not explaining anything either of you until you sleep. Nothing will touch you here. Rest and we can talk over breakfast. I’m exhausted and I know you are two.”

-

“...I would say you were joking but after yesterday...I don’t have any rebuttals.” The smaller one, Tim.

“So that was something called ‘The Stranger’? And you are called ‘Forsaken’?” The taller one, Danny.

“No and yes. That thing was a servant of The Stranger. I’m an avatar of the Forsaken. We ourselves are not the entity.”

“That’s cool.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“So...like...how do you become one of these ‘avatars’?”

“Varies. Usually involves dying.” Both men suddenly looked very weary and he could see two hands sneaking across the counter to poke at him. He allowed it only because he was too busy eating. 

“Yes, I died. No I am not a ghost. Finish your food.”

“How-”

“Two people I thought were friends betrayed me. One fed me to his god and the other watched to satisfy his.”

“Wow you sound bitter.”

“It’s because I am. I’m over it though.”

“You’d still knock their lights out if you saw them, wouldn’t you?”

“You bet your ass I would.”

-

After the men stayed a few more nights (which Barnabas thought was fair after that encounter), things went back to normal. He people watched and sewed, caught up on gossip and spent time in the Lonely. 

About two weeks later, there was a knock on his door. 

Behind it, were two very familiar faces, armed with pizza boxes.

“Okay so hear me out. Movie night. You don’t seem like a movie person so me and Danny got some flicks and munchies and it’s movie night! Danny, hold this.”

As the two men barged into his house and laid their burden on the table, Barnabas shook his head.

“And this is because?”

“Well we really have no way to pay you back...so Tim and I thought that maybe getting you used to some modern things would be a fair...trade?”

“Very well. Hey, be careful with that! I just finished that hem!”

-

For a few months, all was well. The Stoker brothers visited every other night with some new modern topic and in exchange Barnabas offered them tales of his past and information about the entities. 

Until one night, frantic knocking woke him up. 

Drenched, despite it being a clear night, Danny Stoker’s shaking hands held up an old book. 

The next night, as Danny slept in his room in Barnabas’s house, another series of frantic knocks echoed in his house.

Timothy Stoker stood, eyes hazy and ink like shadows cascading off of him, crying. 

These Stoker boys had the worst luck Barnabas had ever seen.

Or maybe it was just him.

**_Now_ **

-

**Sasha - Shallow Graves Are Still Graves**

Sasha loved Artefact Storage. It was tight, cramped, close. It was home. 

(There was a corner, in the way way back where the flooring had been ripped away and a patch of dirt resided. It wasn’t wide but she had dug a small grave and would sit with her feet in it on her breaks sometimes.)

She fondly remembers how her papa had told her that they were holes, not graves. She jokingly called him gravedigger but quickly amended that to graverobber when he came home one day covered in dirt with a sack full of who knows what. 

However, even though Artefact Storage was nice and comfy, she still didn’t trust most of what was locked away. 

(She did always pay extra attention to anything related to The Center, making sure they had a nice clean spot to reside on.)

In her distrust, and in the clutter, several old rusty shovels were hidden. 

Better to be safe than sorry.

-

_Worms._

_Little creatures of the dirt._

_Friends of The Center._

Except these worms were not friends and Sasha was getting tired of them real quick. 

Racing into Artefact Storage had two purposes, the most important to get ahold of a few shovels and her dirt. Revealing herself be damned, she wasn’t going down without a fight. 

She’ll sink the whole Institute if she has to. 

(She’ll never get to explore the lurking tunnels underneath, which would be tragic but an acceptable loss.)

So shovels in hand, she trekked back toward the entrance, keeping her eye out for any worms. 

Then that stupid, stupid web table.

_Remember Sasha, keeping a shovel, a heavy shovel, sharp has two purposes._

_One:_

As the thing laughed, Sasha raised the heaviest shovel above her head.

_It needs to be heavy, to not bend under the strength of the dirt, to last long. We do a lot of digging for the Buried. The edge helps cut dirt and stone as we dig. The faster we work, the happier the Buried is. And the sooner I can sleep._

_Two:_

Silently, and with a gleam in her eyes, Sasha dug her boots into the dirt below and swung the blade down, effortlessly slicing the NotThem in two. 

As it fell to the dirt ground below, Sasha grinned.

_Always make sure the blade is sharp, even in storage. It is both a tool and a weapon. We aren’t the only things that go bump in the night._

“You have a good meal, Center. I need to get back to my friends, but I’ll see what else I can bury for you.”

The ground beneath her shook a few times and she laughed.

**Martin - Hiding in Plain Sight**

Martin signed the contract with a flourish, grinning internally. He knew this man, even with a new face and a new name.

Loneliness of his kind has a certain smell that reminded him of his father. 

He knew all about Jonah Magnus. 

“You can start tomorrow, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Vielen Dank, Herr Bouchard. Ah, sorry. Force of habit.”

“Oh, you’re German?”

“No. My father, however, is.”

“You didn’t list it under your skills section.”

“My German is very basic, just around the house.”

_Lies._

“I see. Is your father fluent?”

“Yes. Is there something you need? Albrecht is usually busy this time of year, but I could ask him.”

_I will never subject my father to you. Never again._

Martin internally grinned when Jonah Magnus startled.

“Albrecht?”

“My father, yes. And I need to be meeting him shortly. I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Bouchard.”

“Ah, yes. Have a good rest of your day Martin. And please, Elias.”

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard.”

Martin turned on his foot and walked out, grinning ear to ear. As he rounded the doorframe to head into the Institute, the gold metal of his earring caught the light.

Unseen by Jonah Magnus, the gold and onyx eye blinked, watching. 

**Tim - Blind Spots Are A Hunter’s Best Friend**

“Timothy Stoker where are you?”

“Nowhere pops! Just taking a walk!”

“You’re ‘walk’ has lasted several days. Danny is about to start crying and I’m really frustrated at you.”

“Oh…”

“Timothy…”

“Okay I’ll tell you, but you can’t be mad!” 

“Oh, I’m past mad. Speak.”

“So I got a job…”

A pause. Tim could hear his guardian take a deep breath. 

“...at the Magnus Institute.”

“No. Absolutely not. Quit, resign. I don’t care.”

“Dad…”

“I don’t want you near that place, or near him Timothy. I can’t protect you there.”

“I don’t need you to protect me there! I don’t want you near that place! I can protect myself!”

“Timothy…”

“You said that that’s the place of the Beholding. I am a walking blind spot! Trust me on this. You saved Danny that day and then you saved the both of us. We can never repay you for that.”

“I thought your ‘modern classes’ were your repayment.” 

“That was a sham and you know it. Just...let me do this for you. Please.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Erase history.”

-

Timothy Stoker learned a lot from Barnabas Bennett. 

He learned how to whip stitch, how to use a quill, how to fence.

He learned what it meant to be an avatar, about the entities, about fear.

The most important thing that he learned from the man he now considers a father figure, is that appearance is everything. 

Not physical appearance though.

(He wonders what type of person his parental figure was before his temporary death.)

In private, Barnabas Bennett is snide. He’s got a short temper, a sharp wit, and a legendary eye roll. 

In public, he is completely different. Hunched in on himself, he hides behind his hair and glasses, eyes wide and innocent. He’s not the brightest on many a topic and jokes go right over his head. 

It’s this that Tim kept in mind as he rambled a sob story (exaggerated, a fight for their lives), to Elias Bouchard. A tragic tale that could have ended up with the loss of Danny had Tim not grabbed a nearby candle. How they barely got away from the claws of that creepy mannequin. 

As he feels the Forever Blind pulling a thick curtain of darkness over his thoughts, behind his eyes, he tells Jonah Magnus a sob story for the ages. He plays weak and cowardly, then hides behind jokes. 

He thinks Barnabas would be proud of him. 

(If he doesn’t try to take Tim’s head first.)

**_Now and Again_ **

Under the thick veil that covered his face, Albrecht von Closen glared at the building that housed the Magnus Institute. 

He could feel it calling to him, but after years and years of practice, he ignored the siren’s song of the Archive and the gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher. 

He did have to roll his shoulders a bit, less he cause a scene.

Shaking his head, he turned away and barely caught himself as he barreled into someone. A man, he thinks, but it’s hard to tell. The man is very…

“Ah. Hello”

“Sorry sir. Are you okay? I’m sorry I was very distracted.”

“I’m fine, no worries.”

“Are you sure? I knocked into you-”

“Barnabas?”

“-pretty...hard...Jonathan?”

“Bennett. Barnabas Bennett?”

“Yes. That’s me. And you are- Wait. Sir Fanshawe?”

“Fanshawe? The doctor, Herr Fanshawe?”

“Albrecht?”

As three men from a time long ago met again, something shifted and awakened, and the man who thought he knew all went about his day, unaware. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> :) Thanks for reading! I like to fix things and this is how I do it XD 
> 
> The next part of this is the part where Elias and Peter are raising Jon and we learn all about that but I liked how this came out and that's probably gonna be a fic of itself. 
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@sassymordechais](https://twitter.com/sassymordechais)! 
> 
> (Do not base fanfics after my fics. Thank you.)


End file.
